Underneath Your Clothes
by RobinRocks
Summary: Two birds, one bond. Why is it there, and where did it come from? In the aftermath of the events of Haunted, it seems that Raven is the only one who understands... WAS a songfic 'til it got deleted. NOT a songfic now. Oneshot, RobinxRaven


Well, I am back! And so is this fic. It got banned a few months ago because apparently you aren't allowed to post up song lyrics you did not write. Well, I wouldn't be so fussed, except… there are hundreds of OTHER song-fics on this site!

And I was PRETTY. DAMN. PROUD of this fic. It got twenty reviews – always a lot for a one-shot; people tend not to review them so much – and it got put in TWO C2 archives and was on the Favorites list of FOURTEEN people. So you can imagine my anger when I got a whiny little email from the site admins complaining that I had broken the rules.

Well, sure, maybe I did; but so have whole lot of OTHER people. So go bust THEIR asses too, if that's how you're gonna be about it. Don't just pick on individual people. My theory is that someone reported me. WHAT THE FUCK? That is deliberate spiteful sabotagement on their part. I wouldn't do it. You wouldn't do it. But someone did it.

And it's just as well they remained fucking anonymous about it.

To anyone who has read _Love Over Gold_ (the RobinxStarfire/Slade co-written fic by my partner-in-crime Narroch06 and myself); once upon a time that was just a one-shot – the original first chapter, _Run To You_ – and guess what? Yes; that was a song-fic too, to the Bryan Adams song of the same name. Guess what happened to it?

Right. It got deleted. Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise, as it is now a co-written three-parter, but all the same, I am sure someone is deliberately sabotaging me…

_Anyway_…

This _was_ a Robin/Raven romance drabble song-fic-type thing to Shakira's _Underneath Your Clothes_, set in the aftermath of _Haunted_. _Now_ it is a song-fic to Shakira's _Underneath Your Clothes_ without the lyrics because I do not want to get my ass busted again… In _Birthmark_, Robin elaborates the fact that he and Raven have a bond because she has been inside his mind; Raven replies that he knows her better than anyone.

_Does_ he?

Although Robin/Raven is a VERY popular pairing, they actually don't really spare a glance towards each other in the show before Season Four picked up on this so-called "bond". I mean, they did share the odd few skeptical glances and bitchy little snipes in relation to Terra in Season Two, and Robin seemed quite protective of Raven in Season Three's _The Beast Within_. But otherwise…?

No, they made that up, didn't they? Unless…

Well, that is where _this_ – and other fics like it – comes in. The origin of the "bond". The reason Raven trusted Robin most of all when facing her ordeal with the Trigon/prophecy/portal/destruction-of-the-world thing. Why Robin even teamed up with Slade in order to save her. The reason why, in the midst of the battle in _The End Pt III_, when the Titans all lie defeated at Trigon's feet, Raven runs past them all just get to Robin.

The reason she _hugged_ him.

How I love the expression on Starfire's face when Raven tightly embraces the boy the alien princess now considers to be hers since _Stranded_…

Any of my nice friends who read and reviewed beforehand and are kind enough to leave another review to console my loss, I love you very much. Have a cookie.

And I know it will not make much sense without the lyrics; I do profusely apologize for that. I'd post the lyrics up on my bio but I know you won't read them anyway…

(Sorry about the _reeeeaaallllyyyy_ long author note...)

Underneath Your Clothes

I know that he's hurting.

On the outside, obviously. I can see the bruises on his skin. I can sense the numb ache seeping through him. I notice the suppressed grimace on his face whenever he moves.

He almost _died_ last night. It will take a long time for him to heal physically.

Mentally…

He won't let me heal him. He won't let anyone near him. He won't let anyone in. If he had no reason to be wary before, he does now. The others are sorry they didn't believe him; Starfire is in the depths of despair. She added to his pain, certainly, by knocking him out with a starbolt. I think she feels bad for that, but worse that she doubted him. Cyborg and Beast Boy are, of course, kicking themselves for allowing Robin to swing so dangerously close to death's door.

But they did not _see_ as I did.

And I fear that I saw a lot more than Robin would have wished me to.

He's standing at the edge of the roof, gazing out at the sunset. There's a cool wind that whips at his cape and hair; actually, from where I'm standing, he looks cold.

Like he'd put a sweater on if I told him to.

Like he'd put a sweater on if _Batman_ told him to.

Yes, I think I saw too much of his mind. Too much of what he hides behind that mask.

Too much of Richard John Grayson.

Yes, _far_ too much.

I've always known that he's a complicated person; nowhere near as simple as the bright red, yellow and green he wears would suggest. He's hardly the black and white that his mask conveys.

He reminds me of a song; not a particular song, but just a song in general. Ups and downs, highs and lows.

Like a song, sometimes he doesn't make any sense.

God, that sounds weird.

He doesn't know that I'm here, safe within my Soul Self, just watching him. Or maybe he does, but is choosing not to acknowledge me. It wouldn't be unusual behavior.

I have entered his mind. Literally. Yet sometimes I feel that… he knows what _I_ am thinking. What _all_ of us are thinking. Perhaps a trick that he learned from Batman.

Perhaps it would be easier to hide my thoughts in _his_ mind. If he can read _me_ so clearly, what can I keep from him? Yet… I do not think Robin can read _himself_. His mind is messy. Hostile, even. The second I entered his consciousness, he retaliated. I felt him push against me, trying with all of his – strong – will to force me back out. Thankfully his mind is not as powerful as mine, but he resented my presence. He didn't want me there, even though I was trying to help him.

He has secrets that he wishes for no-one to ever discover.

_What_ does he hide beneath that costume?

What is underneath his clothes?

Besides his body, of course.

_Heh_.

I don't think I want to know.

Starfire once asked me if I thought Robin wore underwear, because she was certain that she couldn't see an outline. _How_ she got close enough to him to study his butt in that much detail I didn't bother – or _care_ – to enquire, and left Beast Boy to explain the workings of boxer shorts to her.

But sexual innuendos aside, Robin continues to intrigue me.

There's a story there somewhere; one that I discovered only the smallest, disjointed parts of when I entered his mind last night. And since entering him in that way, I have become increasingly curious about him. I saw only little flashes of memories.

Those that are precious to him.

Those that have scarred him.

Those that I am certain he would rather forget.

Yes, there's a truly magnificent, yet terribly tragic, story that I very much desire to read.

A story of, among other things, a little boy who watched his parents fall to their deaths.

That was one of the things I saw in his head. A fleeting, terrible, flashbulb image of a young man and woman, their hands still locked, their sparkling red lycra costumes glittering in the spotlight, just falling and falling and falling…

I didn't see them hit the ring floor.

I know Robin did.

Even now, I can't lie; I could have cried. Cried and cried and cried until I ran out of tears. Until I ran out of _reasons_.

I know Robin did.

He was eight years old.

I saw the vow he made, standing in that cold, dark cave. So clearly, as though… I was really there.

I could even hear the screech of bats, the flutter of their leathery wings…

And my respect for him has suddenly elevated. Now I know _why_ he tries so hard; _why_ he obsesses over things that seem so…

…_trivial_…

Because he made a promise.

His mind is… beautiful. A part of me did not want to leave it, even in the midst of his blinding hallucinations. And yet, another part of me…

…was _afraid_.

I was afraid. _Me_. When I carry within me something more dangerous than Robin could even dream of.

But _because_ of what I am, I have control. I meditate; I calm myself.

Robin's mind is…

_Anything_ but calm.

I truly wish to enter him again and explore his thoughts, but I will not. That would be an intrusion more intimate and perverse than I would ever even _dream_ of subjecting him to. It would be, to a certain degree, voyeurism.

And unlike so many others with my abilities, I will not abuse my gifts.

I will not abuse _Robin_ in such a way.

Is that _all_ I desire from him? Even now, as I watch him – or his back, to be more precise – I feel something that is… unfamiliar to me.

When I ask what is underneath his clothes… surely I don't mean it… _literally_…?

_Let's not go there._

Besides, even if I _did_, he has a war to fight; we _all_ do. A war on crime. Such trivialities are not on his agenda.

And… if they _were_, he would not look to me, but Starfire.

And why not? She's always liked him, she's sweet and she's pretty, and he really likes her. I know he does.

I saw that too.

Why am I thinking like this? I don't want Robin.

Do I?…

No, I don't. _I don't_.

He just… fascinates me.

_Party's over, Raven._

I'm about to leave – I feel a sudden need to meditate – when he suddenly looks over his shoulder straight at where I'm concealed within my Soul Self.

"I know you're there, Raven."

Damn him.

Guiltily I let the dark energy slide away and become visible to him. He simply raises his eyebrows and looks away again.

Great; if he's just going to ignore me, why did he bother?

Again I'm about to slope away, and again he speaks, stopping me;

"I never thanked you."

His voice is so soft and tired, not that usual commanding tone he uses when he's yelling orders at us in the middle of the fray.

"For what?" My own voice is as emotionless as usual.

Still he does not turn to me, and I begin to become irritated by it.

"Robin, if you're just going to-"

"Come and stand by me." He interrupts calmly and vaguely waves his fingers at the spot next to him.

I lay the show of annoyance on thick as I stalk over to him, letting him know I am not amused by his games of vagueness and silence. I think he reads the message loud and clear, but Robin takes heed of very little.

Warning signs are no exception.

Maybe because he knows that the most important, life-shattering events in life _have_ no warning signs.

The death of his parents, for example. They weren't ill; they had no death sentence to their names.

One minute they were alive, soaring through the air high above a glittering center ring; the next they were dead, shattered on the sawdust that had done nothing to break their fall.

He _watched_ it.

I steal a glance at him now; standing next to me, I can see him perfectly in profile. I don't think I ever really noticed before, but he's _really_ nice-looking. But I saw his parents, so I know where he gets it from. Neither of them were badly off in the looks department. Right now – at sixteen years of age – he resembles his mother more. He has her skin, her nose, her facial shape, her hair…

His mouth and his hands are his father's.

I don't know about his eyes; I have never seen them. His mother's were brilliant blue; his father's were stone gray.

Maybe blue-gray, then?

Just blue?

Yes, he is – admittedly – very handsome. Not that it's anything to me.

Even with all those bruises all over him, dark patches of indigo and violet where his pale skin is bare. Even with the now-declining swelling around his right eye. His mask hides the worst of his black eye, but it looks like it hurts. I could heal him; take away the worst of the injuries, but he won't let me.

I mean, I haven't actually asked him. But I _know_ he won't.

I wish that he would let me beneath his clothes; that goddamn _costume_. That he would allow me underneath his _skin_. Behind that mask.

That he would let me _in_. That he would open up to me. Because I understand him; I _really_ do.

I understand Dick Grayson.

So why do I get the feeling he doesn't _want_ me to?

"Robin-"

"_Ssh_…"

He exasperates me; he really does.

"Robin, I'm going inside. I need to meditate."

He catches my arm as I turn away.

"No!"

I blink and turn back to him. There's a desperate, pained expression on his face, cast with gold from the almost-set sun.

"Please don't go. Not yet. Stay here with me."

"Robin, I can't-"

"_Please_." He embraces me and I stand there, rigid in his grip. "You saved my life, Raven, and I never thanked you, and I just… I _should_ have…"

"Robin, it's okay, _really_."

"You _saved_ me."

"You'd have done the same."

He lets me go just as abruptly.

"Yeah, but… that's not the point…"

He folds his arms awkwardly and turns away.

"I want to be alone," he says finally, his voice soft and low. "And yet… I'm _afraid_ to be on my own. I'm afraid that… _he'll come back_…" He looks at the rapidly-declining gold disc in the sky and frowns. "I don't want the sun to set; I don't want the dark to come."

He turns to me and his expression is panicky.

"_What if he comes back?_"

"Robin, it won't be a replay of last night," I promise him quietly. "Cyborg says that your diagnostics are all clear; the reagent is gone from your system. And even if it _did_ happen again… well, we know now. We won't let "him" hurt you again."

Robin smiles grimly.

"You think you can stop Slade?"

"That _wasn't_ Slade last night, Robin. Slade is _dead_. Terra, for all the other trouble she caused, took care of him, at least."

Robin sighs, but says nothing. I know what he's thinking, and I don't need to enter his mind to read it.

"Robin, you're going to make yourself ill if you don't stop with this obsession."

He laughs bitterly, stretching out his arms to look at the bruises.

"Bit late for that advice, Raven."

"Then _stop_ before it happens again."

He pauses and looks at me for a long time. And then, finally…

"_I can't_."

It's so quiet I barely hear it, and he immediately shies away from me as I blink in surprise.

"What?"

"You heard me." His voice is cold now; angry, hard as diamonds. "I _can't_ stop. I _have_ to stop him, Raven-"

"Robin, Slade is _gone!_"

He snorts in contempt, but does not argue back. He's fuming, though, and won't look at me.

The sun sets lower and lower; I can see the first stars twinkling above. A romantic scenario, but the only member of the opposite sex in the vicinity is a sulky, bruised-up sixteen-year-old boy.

Somehow I sense that Robin is not in the mood for romance tonight.

Not that _I_ am either.

I _am_ in the mood to wind down, however, and for the third time I begin to retreat, bidding Robin a non-elaborate goodnight. Incense, candles, a good book and the privacy of my own room sound like a good a idea right now…

"Don't go!"

He sounds near tears now. Again I turn to him, irritated beyond belief now, and he grasps my wrist in desperation.

"Please don't leave me," he pleads. He looks at the rapidly-darkening sky and I see him pale a little more.

Clearly it will be a little while before he gets over the ordeal he faced last night.

He's clinging to me in desperation and I can sense his fright. I'm sure he will be alright eventually, but for now he needs support.

Friendship.

_There go my plans for the evening…_

"Ok, _fine_." I try to sound more irritated than I really am, but it doesn't wash with him. "You can come and meditate with me. Maybe it'll help you to calm down…"

He nods vigorously, but I'm not sure if it's because of enthusiasm or relief. I prise my wrist free and nod curtly at him.

"Come to my room in ten minutes. Don't be late, or I'll start without you."

"Alright…"

I sink through the surface of the roof and leave him there to quiver in the dark.

He's handsome. He's clever. He's utterly fascinating.

He's also a pain in the butt.

He's at my door in exactly ten minutes to the second. I thought perhaps he'd be fooling around somewhere with Cyborg or Beast Boy or Starfire and would be late, but he seems quite eager to learn how to center himself and clear his mind.

Perhaps from a martial artist's point of view; perhaps not.

The only reason I'm doing _this_ is because I don't know what _else_ to do with him. We don't really have very much in common, even now that I know so much more about him.

Maybe _more_ so because I know so much more about him.

_He_ doesn't want to read my books; _I_ don't want to play video games. _He_ doesn't want to summon spirits; _I_ don't want to kick the same sparring dummy for hours on end.

_He_ wants to forget; _I_ want to remember.

I want to _learn_; I want to _know_.

I want to _love_ him, but I am afraid.

I am afraid of _him_.

TT

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos" echoes around the room long after we have let the last chant fall from our lips; it hangs on the silence that follows as instead our mouths meet, mine against his firm one, inherited from his handsome father.

It's a sweet little kiss at first; a sweetheart's first kiss. Just the lips saluting briefly. But his confidence quickly grows, as does mine, and soon we're on the floor in the middle of the candle-lit circle. He's a bit grabby and not very gentle and _god_, he's so _bony_, but I like it. I encourage him, let my tongue dance with his. I begin to touch him, but I think I hurt him quite a few times, pressing too hard on cuts and bruises from the night before, because his little gasps and cries are not ones of pleasure.

So instead I resign to the lady-like part I should really play, and let him lead the dance. He's not exactly graceful, but neither am I. Neither of us have ever done this before.

We do it right; on the bed, by candlelight. And that flickering light accentuates him, makes his hair shine, makes his skin glow. Even the bruises don't look so bad by the gold that washes over him.

For a boy, he is truly beautiful.

He sheds everything but the mask, allows me to touch him. I try not to hurt him, and he tries not to hurt me. We have an understanding; a bond. And even with the mask on, he lets me in. I have been good, and he gives me what I deserve. He spills his secrets to me without even opening his mouth. He tells me of things that he does not even know himself. He breathes his life into me.

He allows me to see what truly is underneath his clothes; what lies beyond his uniform.

The broken little boy who hides behind "Robin".

So I allow him into me too, in perhaps a different way, but the wonder that shines in his eyes – even beyond his mask – only makes me smile. I give to him – and _only_ him – my promise and my seal, and in return he gives me his.

It's the most wonderful experience I have ever had.

And I have learned more than I could have ever hoped for from him.

More about _him_, of course, but also that love and promise are the two most important things in the world.

For now, that lesson is precious to me. I only wish that I had learned it much sooner.

Because in the end, they're the only things that matter.

* * *

Seriously, if this gets deleted again, I will be very upset. I'm not joking. Because I haven't done anything wrong this time. There are no lyrics up on the fic.

I love song-fics; I think writing a story around the lyrics of a song someone else wrote breeds a beautiful fusion of ideas, and really gets the reader to think about what is being said and about the interpretation of the song itself. I like to write them, and I like to read them, and I DON'T like them being deleted because some rule-junkie decides to report it out of spite… Seriously, what do you gain from reporting a fic? A medal? 50 complimentary reviews for the self-written fic of your choice?

So yeah, I love song-fics; but unfortunately I don't think I will be doing any more of them. :(

And yes; to all who didn't know, Robin's real full name _is_ Richard John Grayson. I didn't make that up. I suspect that his middle name of "John" is, of course, after his father.

(The last line is a literal reference to _The End_, BTW. Probably _didn't_ need me to point that out…)

I'll be back, mark my words…

- RobinRocks xXx


End file.
